Medecins Sans Frontieres
by KeepCalmAndKeepWriting
Summary: Arthur gets shot in the stomach, and Eames and Ariadne have to keep him alive for an hour until medical help arrives...


**(I can't help it- I love Arthur and Eames- gay or just as friends- and this was just _so_ much fun to write :)**

"_What_, is your problem?" cried Ariadne, unable to contain herself any longer, twisting in her chair to glare at Eames across the large room they were currently using above a warehouse.

He was leaning back on his chair, casually turning a pen over deftly in his fingers, surveying her.

As he had been for the past half-an-hour.

Eames grinned at her, falling forward onto all 4 chair legs.

"I'm afraid, darling, that it is not my problem that you look simply divine in this light, especially in that really rather flattering blouse."

Ariadne frowned. She had bloody well _known_ that this shirt was too see-through. She should have expected Eames' reaction.

"And it is also not my problem that I am only permitted to even _look_ at you when our dear friend Arthur is not present. Christ- he practically _castrates_ me every time I happen to glance in your direction!" he drawled, pouting those frankly far too attractive lips to be found in the middle of such a scruffy beard.

Ariadne raised an eyebrow, and tried to stop herself smiling. It was true. Arthur _did_ have a tendency to get a little over protective when it came to Eames staring at her. To be honest, most the time she was grateful- knowing someone was watching her slightest move was more than a little distracting. At the moment however, Arthur was out buying them all lunch, and couldn't come to her rescue.

Ariadne sighed, and dropped her pencil, leaning back on her chair. It was pointless trying to work now.

Eames got up and swaggered over, ever overly-confident. He pulled over Arthur's chair from the desk next to hers, and fell into it opposite her.

"Really though, you do look irresponsibly seductive in that shirt and with your hair like that," Eames muttered, gesturing.

"My hair?" Ariadne asked, her hand immediately going to it. "But it's just as I always have it- down."

"Exactly my point darling," Eames told her seriously, shaking his head in disapproval.

Ariadne sighed. He was in a flirtatious mood today, which guaranteed she would get nothing out of him that wasn't heavily laced with some sexual innuendo.

"Well, I think _your_ shirt is also highly irresponsible," she said coolly, leaning forward.

"Really?" grinned Eames, mimicking her actions and leaning in too.

"Yes- it is crime against fashion, and frankly I'm embarrassed to know you just for wearing it," finished Ariadne, fighting to keep a straight face.

"Oh darling- I had no idea you could be so cruel!" cried Eames, his face wounded, clutching at his chest, "that has _really_ deflated my ego-you're going to have to find some way to make it up to me..."

"Stop being so dramatic Eames," grinned Ariadne, "you know, sometimes I really wonder what Cobb sees in y-"

She stopped abruptly at the sound of the gun-shot. It was loud and terrifyingly close by.

All trace of joking disappeared from Eames' handsome features, and he instantly got up and drew out his gun, swinging round to face the door.

Ariadne tried to stop herself panicking. It didn't necessarily have to be a gun-shot, it could be car-back-firing or, or...- but she stopped trying to guess. There were footsteps coming up the stairwell.

Ariadne stopped breathing. Eames moved slowly round the front of her desk so he was standing in front of her.

"Get down behind the desk," he murmured over his shoulder, not taking his eyes of the door.

"No bloody way," she managed back.

Eames sighed, but said nothing. The footsteps were getting closer- they were slow and purposeful. And horribly ominous.

Eames' flexed his arms, tightening his grip on the gun.

* * *

><p>Then the door opened, and Ariadne felt the relief was so great it almost hurt. Because it was Arthur. Just Arthur. Gorgeous and perfect of course, dressed in his dark, simple 3 piece suit, hair slicked back, carrying a bag from the local boulangerie.<p>

"Fucking hell, Arthur, you didn't half scare the shit out of me," Eames scolded him, exhaling sharply, "What the hell happened out there? Oh- and if you haven't brought me one of those tarte de pommes, you can go straight back out again..." Eames turned his back on Arthur, patted Ariadne on the shoulder, and made his way back to his desk.

But Ariadne didn't move. A horrible sensation starting in her gut was telling her that something wasn't right. Arthur was brisk and practical. He climbed the stairs quickly and always went straight to his desk. Right now, he was just standing by the door, un-moving.

"Arthur?" Ariadne asked softly," are you alri-"

"Call Cobb," Arthur said firmly, but Ariadne was surprised by how quiet his voice was.

"Why?"

"Because he can't come back here, it's...it's not safe..." and now Ariadne really was worried, because Arthur _never_ struggled to get his words out, and had never sounded so _weak_ before.

She made her way round her desk, frowning, "Arthur- is something wro-"

And then he slumped to the warehouse floor.

"Eames!" Ariadne cried, running to Arthur's side, unstoppable panic rising in her.

Eames fell to his knees on Arthur's other side in a matter of seconds, cursing under his breath.

"Shit- what happened Arthur?"

Up close, Ariadne could tell something was very wrong. Arthur was as white as a sheet, and his eyes were wide and staring. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"...Took a bullet...stomach," he managed through short, shallow breaths.

Eames instantly ripped open Arthur's jacket and waistcoat. A horribly bright red stain, a stark contrast to his white shirt, was growing across his abdomen.

"Oh fucking hell..." Eames muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"What do we do?" Ariadne choked. This wasn't a dream. They couldn't just shoot him in the head and end his pain. This was all terribly real. She reached out to squeeze Arthur's hand. He gave her a heart-breaking smile through his grimace.

"Well- _I_ don't know how to bloody well deal with this sort of thing..." Eames was at a loss at what to do. He was struggling to keep calm while not just anyone, but _Arthur, _for Christ's sake, was bleeding to death in front of him. Arthur was the methodical organised one. He, Eames, flirted, pissed around and made crap jokes.

"Liar- you do know," Arthur told him weakly, frowning slightly. Ariadne watched as Eames held Arthur's gaze for a split- second, sharing some private moment she didn't understand, before Eames snapped into action.

"Ari, get Cobb on the line, and bring over the med kit," Eames was pulling off his shirt with lightening speed, and using it to apply pressure to Arthur's wound. It took Ariadne a second to draw her eyes away from Eames' muscular, tattooed arms, flexing as he leant over Arthur, but Arthur's groan of pain brought her out of her reverie.

She got up, and ran over to her desk, pulling out draws onto the floor in search of her phone.

"A vest? Really Eames?" Arthur scoffed feebly, half- gesturing to the tight white sleeveless garment that spanned Eames' torso.

"Only for you darling," Eames replied without missing a beat, "if you would prefer, I can take it off as well." Arthur raised an eyebrow, and despite the situation, Eames grinned.

"If you must know, this is actually a tank-top- I wear it for kick-boxing after spending all day in the company of yours truly."

"Kick-boxing? How did you manage to find one of those thug nests in Paris?" Arthur whispered, struggling to make his voice any louder.

"Your condescension, as always Arthur, is much appreciated," Eames replied in a heartbeat with a small smile, "and actually, I find kick-boxing is a great way of keeping myself fit- got to stay in shape if I'm ever going to win your heart, darling."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Good luck with that Eames," he managed.

"Ah- you know me Arthur, ever the optimist."

"Eames! It's Cobb-"Ariadne handed him the phone. Eames took it with bloodied hands, "Pressure," he told her firmly, gesturing to Arthur's wound.

Ariadne took Eames' place, and pressed her both hands over his steadily staining shirt. Arthur winced, closing his eyes against the pain.

"I'm so sorry Arthur," she whispered, biting back tears. She couldn't _bear_ to see him like this.

He smiled at her kindly through his grimace, "You're doing fine," he told her, and Ariadne considered how ironic it was that she was being comforted by a bleeding man.

Ariadne couldn't think of anything suitable to say after that, so stayed quiet, listening to the drawl of Eames' English accent from the other side of the room, just out of earshot.

"What did you mean when you said Eames was lying?" Ariadne asked before thinking about what she was saying.

Arthur regarded her seriously. "Before he got into Extraction, Eames was in the army, he was a medic."

Ariadne stared at him. Eames? A medic? She looked over her shoulder at the man in question, standing in the middle of their office area, talking earnestly into his mobile, a stained red hand on his lean hip. She couldn't picture Eames involved in anything so...serious.

But if there was a time Eames was serious, now was it. He flipped the phone shut, and jogged back over.

"Cobb isn't coming back- but he's sending medical help. Something discrete- but it could take a while..." he knelt back down next to Ariadne, and smoothly replaced her hands with his. "Good job," he said to her, offering a surprisingly sincere smile.

"So, what's the course of action Dr. Eames?" croaked Arthur, his lips twitching slightly.

Eames chuckled. "You have _no idea_ how many fantasies that will fuel darling," and although Arthur groaned, Ariadne was pretty sure it wasn't from the pain. "But if you must know- first priority is slowing this bleeding, which at the moment..." he tailed off, frowning down at the wound.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Eames, spare me the pleasantries, please," Arthur rasped, and Eames didn't look up, his mouth set in a hard line. He said nothing.

"Ariadne, get his head in your lap for Christ's sake," he muttered. Ariadne quickly moved round, gently lifting Arthur's head onto her knees, running a hand down the side of his face.

"You're going to be fine Arthur-" she started, trying to smile at him, but Eames interrupted.

"Actually, you're not. I don't like the way this looks Arthur, I think this bastard hit a main artery- and apart from pressure and keeping you conscious, there really isn't much else I can do..." Eames voice was low and concerned.

"Adrenalin?" suggested Arthur.

"Last resort mate, don't exactly want to give you a heart attack."

"How long..." Arthur tried, but starting coughing half-way through. Ariadne and Eames helped him lift himself up, and Eames caught her eye when scarlet flecks splattered Arthur's waistcoat. He was coughing up blood, not a good sign.

"-Till the Discrete Ambulance arrives?" Eames offered, as he laid Arthur back down. Arthur managed a nod. "Up to an hour Cobb said, although hopefully much sooner."

"Just what I've always wanted...a nice, dragged out death," Arthur muttered.

"Ah- now don't go thinking like that. We discuss the depressing facts, and then ignore them, right?" Eames shifted his weight over the pressure he was applying on the wound, and Arthur swore loudly.

Eames stayed quiet for a while after that, allowing Arthur's breathing to return to something that resembled normal.

"You know darling," he started with a small smile. "I think after this you should take a sabbatical. A month should do it. We'll go somewhere nice and warm- Barbados perhaps? Either way, I think it's about time you had a break from your work obsession..."

"Since...since when was it customary to take a tactless, highly inappropriate Englishman on your sabbatical?" Arthur inquired weakly, and Ariadne couldn't help but smile. The continuous banter between Arthur and Eames made her smile on a daily basis, and laugh quite a lot too.

"Ah- since _we_ came along," Eames told him proudly.

Arthur sighed, half-shaking his head in surrender. Despite the searing pain, with his head on Ariadne's warm lap, he was actually really quite comfortable, and strangely tired too... his eyes drifted shut.

Eames gave him a short, sharp slap across the face, and Arthur moaned in annoyance, opening his eyes to glare at Eames.

"You'll thank me later when you're still alive," Eames told him sternly, "Comfort is only an optional extra Arthur, keeping you conscious is the primary concern."

Arthur muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'insufferable...stubborn...pain-inflicting, idiot,'

"Oi- I _**am**_ the one saving your life right now darling, and I'm going to hold to that," Eames said, eyebrows raised, an amused smirk breifly playing on his lips.

Arthur focused on breathing after that, something that was becoming increasingly difficult as time passed. Each short shallow gasp of oxygen sent jarring pain to his side. Eames watched him with concern. He had never seen Arthur in such _pain_ before. Sure, he'd been injured enough times, but Arthur was the strong and silent type. He didn't tell anyone unless absolutely necessary. Eames smiled at that. Arthur took practicality to the point of madness.

"So then, what actually happened?" Eames asked, aware that if it got too quiet, Arthur would start to drift off again.

Arthur cleared his throat weakly. "Coming back from...the shop. Felt... I was being watched. Got to the warehouse door...made to open it, and then...shot. Didn't see anyone...sniper." Each word was painful- and Eames decided that it was best Arthur spoke as little as possible from then on.

"They waited until you turned into the warehouse... they know our location, but aren't sure of our identities- doesn't sound like Cobol," Eames pondered aloud, frowning.

Arthur didn't move, he was trying to control his reaction to a sudden surge of pain that was tearing through him. He couldn't quite manage it.

"Fuck," he spat, suddenly curling away from Eames' pressure and Ariadne's lap-the agony was mind-blowing.

"Hey, _hey!_" said Eames, paniked, quickly pulling Arthur back to his original position, watching Arthur's grimaced expression anxiously. "Don't move- it'll only get worse."

"Can't...get worse. Christ- this hurts..." Arthur managed under his breath.

"I know- I'm sorry darling, I can't do anything to help that, although, to be honest I'd be worried if it didn't hurt, pain is a pleasant reminder that your brain is still working-" Eames stopped abruptly. Arthur had suddenly gone limp, eyes closed.

"Oh no you fucking don't..." Eames muttered, and was instantly reaching for the med kit, pulling out various syringes.

"Eames- what's wrong with him?" Ariadne asked- her voice rising in panic. Arthur's chest was rising and falling rapidly, but he was definitely unconscious.

"Cardiac arrest," Eames told her distractedly, grabbing a particularly large syringe from the med-kit and yanking off the plastic wrapper.

Ariadne had watched enough medical dramas to know what _that_ meant. "Shit," she breathed, "And what the hell is that?"

Eames had ripped Arthur's shirt open exposing his chest, and stabbed the syringe into the area above his heart.

"Adrenalin."

Ariadne had never seen Eames so intense before- his face a mask of seriousness. He quickly reapplied the pressure to the wound, watching the rise and fall of Arthur's chest carefully.

And then Ariadne heard footsteps climbing the stairs. Multiple footsteps.

"The Med team," she sighed, relieved.

"Don't assume anything, get my gun- and train it on the door," Eames told her his voice unusually harsh and cold.

Ariadne shifted Arthur's head from her lap as gently as she could, and clambered to her feet, before sprinting back over to her desk where Eames had left his gun. She felt like a fool as she held it in her shaking hands, and faced the door.

It burst open, and 3 people came in, averagely dressed, carrying hand-bags and briefcases. They stopped when they saw the gun.

The woman at the front raised her hands.

"Mr. Charles sent us, he said you had a man who'd been shot, we're the Paramedics," and to prove her point, she gestured to the man on her right, who pulled a collapsible stretcher from his 'briefcase' and began assembling it.

"About bloody time," Eames muttered, and nodded to Ariadne. She lowered the gun slowly.

The Paramedics quickly made their way over to Arthur's side, Eames stayed where he was.

"Gun-shot from a long range to the lower stomach area, close to the Appendix, possible rupture of a main artery with severe resultant blood loss, and just now went into cardiac arrest. Pressure applied and 1 mg of pure Adrenalin administered- been unconscious for approximately 2 minutes," Eames rattled off quickly, as the Paramedics set up everything so Arthur could be moved on the stretcher.

"Right- thanks, you did the right thing, but we can take it from here- we need to get him into surgery asap," said the female Paramedic. It took Eames a second to register what she had said, before he moved his bloodied hands off the wound.

"Did you come in the back way?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the paramedic who was strapping an oxygen mask to Arthur's pale face.

"Yes- we were told it was safer."

"Good- I'll cover you until you're in the Ambulance," Eames said briskly, and got up. He went over to Ariadne, who hadn't moved while all this had been going on.

"Ari? I need my gun," he said gently, and prised it out of her fingers, leaving Arthur's blood on her hands. Ariadne didn't look up, she was staring at Arthur's still form as he was manoeuvred onto the stretcher.

"Ready to go?" the female Paramedic asked, turning to Eames. Eames nodded shortly, took one look at Arthur's limp body, before leading the way down the stairwell, gun raised.

Ariadne watched them go.

The shock of what had just happened was starting to sink in, the numbness fading. She couldn't control the sobs that started, so she sank to the floor, her back against the desk, and covered her face with her hands.

She didn't even register when, sometime later, Eames sat down next to her, and pulled her into his arms. As she managed to stop crying, he leant over, and kissed the top of her head.

"Some medic I am- should be treating you for shock..." he muttered into her hair.

Ariadne pulled his arms tighter around her, like a blanket.

"You are," she sniffled, and Eames chuckled.

There was a pause.

"Will he...will Arthur be alright?" she asked gingerly.

Eames stiffened, his face momentarily pained. But then he squeezed Ariadne's waist a little tighter, and gave her smile.

"Of course he will be, Arthur is always alright," he told her firmly, and Ariadne couldn't help wonder if it was more to reassure himself rather than her.

**(Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed the thing about Dr. Eames? I didn't notice it at first either, but then Word tried to correct it to 'Dreams'... O.O)**


End file.
